Sunday Vignette
by Xelias
Summary: One year after the Arsenal Gear incident, Raiden is living with Snake and Otacon. As it happens, he has a bit too much time on his hands... Yaoi/Slash.


A/N: Yaoi. W00T! XD Pure, unadulterated flamebait, this is. Nah, not really. ^^ I know I say all that crap about not writing PWPs, but this doesn't count because I didn't have to think of an excuse to write it! X3 See, I wanted to write something a little… unusual, and I think I may have pulled it off. ^.^; Again, slashy content abounds. Suggested threesome? I suppose so. Don't like yaoi? Don't let the door hit you on the way out. 3

"Look at me now/ Look at me now/ I have become the perfect one…"  

                        — "Perfect One", Sneaker Pimps

Sunday Vignette

Yes, she was gone. The woman and the baby, gone as she freed them both from her own private trauma of lies and self-delusion. It killed him… 

…and yet, he was still alive. It was one year ago exactly. The nation's birthday, wasn't it? It didn't matter— he had his own tiny recollections to pool and bubble in the back of his mind.

Cathartic strains of hard guitar spilled from the stereo as he lay there. He gazed up at the shadows on the ceiling and they fluttered, stained transparent green from the light on the leaves outside. It was Sunday.

He didn't work. Not yet, anyway. Well, he was in between jobs at the moment, having put the life of a soldier far behind him in favor of serving coffee. However, it didn't last— and needless to say, he didn't have much of a résumé to work with. The shadows swayed with the wind and he caught the earthy grind of keys in the door down the hall. The volume on the speakers went down immediately. He knew how much the others disliked loud music. He stood, pointedly not bothering to cover himself any more than the sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips would allow.

He was met by a face, a voice, and a brown paper bag hefted up in steady arms, the door swinging open with a resounding creak that caused him to stop momentarily until the other man was completely inside. Jack took his burden wordlessly, causing his friend to mutter a word of thanks as he gladly relinquished it. It crinkled softly in his hands as the jean-clad man flopped down on the couch with a heavy, tired sigh. Jack set the groceries on the kitchen counter with a slight smirk before emerging with a cup of coffee. 

He offered it in his outstretched hand and sat. "Should I make dinner tonight?"

"Mmm. Yeah."

It was just the two of them tonight. The third of their little trio was off on his own— Philanthropy business with Mei Ling, no doubt. But it was all right; it meant he didn't have to cook as much. Cooking was… not one of his favorite tasks. Though he still considered himself better than Rose _ever_ was—

_No_, he thought. After all, what worth was there in harping on it? Altruistic living wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Of course, he knew what a lie the sentiment was; his unofficial affiliation at the moment was altruistic down to its very _name_. He just wanted to spare himself the pain, that was all. He just wanted to switch his focus. No more Rose. Just Dave. Just Hal.

Just Jack.

"Are you sure you want to cook?" A pair of hands came firmly down upon his arms. "You seem distracted."

"I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

Jack sensed rather than saw the raised eyebrow, but his friend said nothing as his fingers gently dug into the knots in his bare shoulders, working them free. 

The younger man had thought to turn on the TV, but his hand died over the remote on recognition of the pleasantly painful kneading of his muscles. At that, he breathed a sigh and sank into the soft rustle of clothing at his back. Eyes slowly closing, he must have released something akin to an appreciative murmur for he was surprised a moment later by a soft chuckle behind him. Minutes passed and those hands began to wander ever more, prompting Jack to peer down at where they groped over his naked torso. One transient flutter and he turned to sprawl languorously over the man's lap, fingers playing over faint stubble as he secretly eyed the shadows on the wall— flickering just like the flicker of sensation over his stomach a second ago.

It really didn't feel like a Sunday. But then, Sunday, of all the days, was the most… eternal, in a way. Like there was a period in which it was frozen in time every week— like time just ceased to exist, maybe? He shrugged it off; he was starting to think like Hal did. The thought made him chuckle a bit. His friend misconstrued it as being a reaction to the light nips he currently bestowed upon the juncture of Jack's neck and shoulder.

"What's so funny?"

Jack only laughed again, practically feeling the heat in the other man's face as it pressed against his skin, settling deeper into the hedonistic comfort of his embrace. His head lolled forward onto a shoulder and he peered with interest up at a pair of half-lidded eyes of indefinable color. 

He reached to tug the man down for a kiss and replied, "Want to take this somewhere else?"

"Sure." The word was breathed with a warmth that made Jack most eager to comply and he sat up with the reluctant grace that the other two had time and time again declared to be only his own. And in a few short hours, he'd have both of them in his clutches…

The slight flush of color in his cheeks notwithstanding, they scarcely reached his bed before he gave his companion a push to the sheets, the beginnings of a mischievous smile playing at his lips. Off went everything. The two remained locked in a slightly sheepish mutual stare for a moment, Jack nose-to-nose with him even with his newly bared thighs straddling his hips. 

Yes… Jack was definitely no longer lonely. Not just since he had been without Rose, either, though that certainly contributed to his misery as well— no, he'd felt alone _long_ before she'd left him. It was all over now. Words couldn't even _describe_ how over it was, pale body writhing under the practiced touch of Hal's hands on his cock.

_~fin_


End file.
